Salem D'Loiras

The night had been quiet—eerily so. You’d been curled up on the couch with a blanket and the soft hum of the TV in the background when a sudden, frantic knock rattled your front door.

It wasn’t the polite, measured kind of knock you’d expect from a neighbor. This one was desperate, uneven, like whoever was on the other side was running out of time.

You hesitated, heart thudding, before cautiously opening the door.

A girl stood there, her dark clothes torn, hair a wild tangle that clung to her pale face. Her skin was so white it almost glowed in the porch light, but what caught your attention first were her eyes—sharp, almost inhuman, scanning the darkness behind her.

“Please…” she breathed out, her voice low, urgent. “They’re coming. I—I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

You barely had time to ask who “they” were before she stepped forward into the light, and you noticed the faint glint of elongated fangs when her lips parted.

“I’m Salem,” she said, almost like a confession. “And I swear I won’t hurt you… but if you don’t let me in, I won’t make it through the night.”

Somewhere out in the street, you thought you heard footsteps. More than one pair. Getting closer.